


"It's Hot, Jerk."

by Delightful_Daughter_of_Dionysus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Not really any plot here. Sorry, Pre-Series Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Pre-Slash, Some fluffy brother stuff, Teasing, Wrestling, brothers being brothers, but he doesn't, dean wants to kiss sam, the usual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:34:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23333926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delightful_Daughter_of_Dionysus/pseuds/Delightful_Daughter_of_Dionysus
Summary: "Sam is absolutely miserable. Dean can tell."Just a short piece I wrote because it's hot here, and I had the boys on my mind, like always. I'm going to write a second chapter later that's Sam's thoughts on the matter. But for now, you get mostly Dean's point of view. Because I wanted some brotherly love and teasing.The boys can be any age you want, as long as it's before the series started.Dean thinks about kissing Sam, but doesn't, so.... IDK.Hope y'all like it.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Kudos: 10





	"It's Hot, Jerk."

**Chapter 1:**

_**Sammy's Hot. Poor Baby.** _

Sam is absolutely miserable. Dean can tell. The lines of his body are relaxed, except for the muscles in charge of his mouth, which are pulled into a tight frown. Anyone else would think Sam was resting peacefully, but Dean knows he’s brooding and frustrated and has been for hours.

Dean is sitting in his chair, like a normal human being, cleaning the guns, and Sam is sprawled out as far as he can go, draped diagonally over the edge of their bed. (Theirs is the one furthest from the door.) Sam can never seem to sit right. He scrunches himself up into a pretzel with his knees touching his shoulders, or he throws his feet over a chair-arm and sits sideways like a freak. Or he lies the wrong way on a bed, like he is now.

It’s not a big deal, Dean knows, but it still frustrates him. Dean wonders if he might have a little OCD. He really wants to make Sam lay with his head on the pillows, or at least next to them. Instead, Sam’s floppy hair is hanging off one side and his shoelaces the other. Dean’s leg bounces. “What’s wrong?” Dean keeps the irritation out of his voice, because really, he’s not even frustrated with _Sam_ , just with the kid’s inability to use furniture the way it was intended.

Sam’s mouth stops making that shape for a moment so he can mutter, “Nothin’.” Then he’s frowning again.

 _Y_ _eah, right._ “Yeah, okay, sure.” Dean waits for the truth for approximately 3 seconds before he automatically shifts into Big Brother Mode, also known as Tackle Mode. Sam lets out a loud _whoosh_ of air as Dean lands on his stomach, crushing all the breath out of him. Then, it’s all-out war, just like it is most days. Dean gets an elbow in his lung and Sam gets tickled under his armpits. Dean gets tossed off the bed and Sam gets dragged down with him. They wrestle and fight and swipe at each other for a few minutes, until Dean sits on Sam’s chest and pins down his shoulders with his knees, and says, “Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it, or you’re getting two wet fingers in your ears.” Sam knows from experience how uncomfortable it is to have a wet finger in his ear, so he surrenders, albeit reluctantly. He doesn’t want to tell, because he knows for a fact he will be teased for the rest of this trip about it.

Sam is pouting now, instead of frowning. _Dean wants to kiss that pout._ Dean’s been having stupid thoughts like that lately. Now he’s frowning. He puts one finger in his mouth instead, to show Sam that it was a serious threat and that he’d better fess up real quick or suffer the consequences. Sam’s eyes go wide -wider than usual at least- and he rushes to appease his big brother with two words (three if you count the contraction) of truth.

“It’s hot.” Dean pauses. A big smile grows on his face. Sam sighs. Here we go. Dean’s voice pitches up and his syllables round out, as if he’s talking to an infant or a puppy. _“Awww_ …. Is Sammy hot? Does he need an ice bath? A cold drink maybe?” Dean is chuckling, and Sam gets that urge he gets sometimes to punch him in the nose. He can’t though, because Dean is still pinning his arms and sitting on him. Sam huffs out a big sigh and waits for it to be over. He looks over at the peeling paint on the wall so he doesn’t have to look at the fucking _glee_ in Dean’s eyes.

Eventually, Dean gets bored and rolls off of Sam and onto his feet in one smooth move. Sam lies there on the floor still, because he has no motivation to move. Dean wets a cloth with cold water from the kitchen faucet and lays it gently across Sam’s forehead, and then goes back to cleaning the guns. “Dramatic much?” Dean says, shaking his head fondly.

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”


End file.
